Icarus's blog: "Hope- by any other name."

I'm kinda sad that no one's here to watch me catch flies with my barehand.

I do at least 20 awesome things in a day.

And I usually just smile knowingly to myself because no one realizes I'm a ninja.

But lately that quaint self satisfaction isn't enough.

Been feeling a bit like the good china.
Nice to look at
but rarely eaten off of.

I'm just worried that my good looks are going to fade at their brief peak, and no one will have particularly taken a notice to me.

Granted as I approach 25 my lines are coming in a little bit

they don't look all that bad, I guess that optimism is coming from someone who has always had a deceptively young face.

Here I am employed, not living with my parents, educated, talented? whimsical and one handsome motherfucker to boot
I cook, I wrestle giant dogs, and I write poetry regularly, sometimes about you.
I give long loving massages, I go on errands at 5 in the morning, I can do long division in my head.

*sigh*
Damn, just love me already.

In the meantime, I think my gay indian coworker may be coming on a little...
strong
STRONG
... strong.
Gave me his number today.
>> Man I hope he just thinks I'm cool, but he is very soft spoken and gentle... and always talking to me.

I know I know
not all nancy's are queens, not all queens are nancy's
but it'd be kinda awkward if he was writing my name on his planner with lil hearts around it.

I mean fuck, sure I'm obsessed with a girl... but its different because I've curbed my urges to jump her on smoke break.

I'm catnip, but I'm really more of a dog person.

Also- my supervisor is totally down with the swirl.

Would've given him a lowfive if he knew what for and if we had "that" kind of relationship.

We do not. I'm quite convinced he doesn't like me, but not in that hostile, must make life miserable asshole boss kinda way- more like "weird kid's talking again". Different spheres, different elements I suppose. And I never do well with go-getters or A-types unless I'm working on the EXACT same thing as they are, and as an agreeable and knowledgeable (or at least trainable) underling. Hell, he might not even be Type A. He gives off some weird reads. Slacker, almost military... almost copish. Which is weird because I get Type A from all the actual ex cops in the building. He has this grin that's kinda "yeah? Fuck it, and fuck you- but we're still cool". Like I said, he's a weird read, might explain why I'm still more cautious around him than the sociopath techy.

So what actually matters here? What's in-bounds and on topic?

crushes, seemingly one-way ones, and having most of my environment figured out but one key component. *shrugs* oh- and I'm the great destroyer, where is my queen?

I was hoping you'd find me here.

Skipping rocks against a lake the color of crude oil
and the smell of smooth wet limestone.

They say everyone has their place of power.
A moment of triumph.
A previous sexual encounter.
A clever remark.

This is mine.

There are no adoring fans hefting me on their shoulders.
No parades, bandstands or roulette wheels.

Just unnatural light and an infinite echoing empty.

Someone once explained hell as such a place to me.

I think that was the moment I realized I was the exact opposite of this person.

To a white man, darkness is evil, to a dark man, an albino is to be clubbed to death.

There was a ripple this time, a mirage of sound and arousal in the darkness.
Cooing and gasping, with the faint smell of warm sweat.

Only a trinket, a bauble, a kind gesture.
She had her back braced against a bathroom stall,
her power-slacks wrinkled against her hips
as she stirred her not-entirely-pink privates,
clutching my impotent offering in her free hand.

It was becoming all the more frequent.
Daydreams of her pleasure in the elevator,
as she passed and smiled.
When I found her a continent away
across.

What's worse was the guilt of only watching.
I just wanted to hear her pop, roll, moan and simmer.

Perhaps I find myself treading these depths too long.
But my fingers aren't pruney yet,

Dangerous thoughts...
she is spoken for, though I can't imagine her happy.
She is wild and fickle
not like fire but a lightning storm.
Fire you can trust to destroy everything.
... this is far more random, thrice as remarkable.

What doth light bring to the dark that eats dark
the spiral that crushes all in an inescappeable pitfall
perhaps building momentum for another burst
perhaps only gathering more dark.

A funnel hell of weight where light is nothing.
The empty becoming a force.

Perhaps this darkness could consume her
tame her
and in doing so
free her to be slave to my whim.

I catch a tremble in my arm...
almost reaching out.

Dangerous thoughts.

This is not a mumm... because its a blog

but its getting late, and I really don't know what I want to take care of before the morning rush.

I could totally fire off another round of knuckle children too... :/

So there's my dillemma- wash off my funk, shave, clip my grody nails, fire a pocket rocket, or save it for the morning- if I really get my ass rolling and hitting the ground early I can take care of it first thing

but knowing me, I won't want to.

Now that I cut my hair again (was reaching record lengths) I can take those 3 minute showers where I shave and brush my teeth and piss all at once.

Dude, what can I say- I've got mad skills

and don't tell me you don't pee in the shower
fuckin liars.

It's porcelain with constantly running scalding hot water and soap.

Not a logic problem.

so here's the plan

... wanking would really just be an exercise in stamina and callous building
so that's 86'd
The more I think about it- the more giddy I am about doing 12 things at once in the shower
grab a hunk of bagguette (really need to learn how to spell that word)
put on my solid black outfit
fabreze my shoes
grab my glasses, teabag, and PSP and get in the car.

... holy shit I am gonna be late doin all that ... :/

Lookin forward to it.

Muddy Waters is on my playlist, I'm writing erotic work vaguely about someone I don't know well enough to hate, and I am fucking exhausted.

Good fuckin times, but I kinda wish I could take the day off and finish up my Dark knights (hardest job to unlock EVER) and recruit more doctors and technicians.

And that involves meandering about the city clicking a button while my PSP tries to detect wireless internet to borrow a signal sequence from and assign parameters to my new recruits.

It's kinda fun
it's kinda retarded
because I have a tendency to do it while driving.
God... if I did it at my building over break though I'd have like 20 new guys.
Hell... just walking down corporate row during daytime would score me an army.

I do have that hacking cough I could do over the phone... "can't *cough hack blechk* come in *cough hack blechk* plague. Dying." but if anyone spotted me walking around with my PSP out while they were on smoke break I'd be proper fucked.

No, we'll have to work on this plan.
The first one I came up with was pretty solid though.
Anyone wanna bet I can cram it all into 10 minutes- and that includes dog responsibilities and the "where the fuck is my belt" game.

We've got a problem here.
Someone's cheek sweat is chaffing my thigh
She's good... she's better than good, she's great.

Still got no idea who the fuck she is, or why she'd have anything to do with a skinny ginger like me.

No stupid porno shit, nothing her friends told her I'd think would feel good.
Why the fuck do women think they'd know anyway?
Blind leadin the fuckin blind- just respond, or better yet
fucking listen.
You give me cues, I'll return the favor, whatever gets these pocket rockets to fire faster.

Guys don't sit around and tissle and teehee about this shit, because we already know its like finding a retarded cow in a minefield full of more cows.

Yeah, you think I just said something crazy, but its true.
Also, I kinda wanted to make this last, so I had to go somewhere else.
Thinkin about cows stepping on landmines was better than baseball, or focusing real REAL hard on a color.

I dunno why that works, but it does, but innevitably I think about the girl, and a field of that color, and matching underwear

I dunno why, but its usually green...

I don't even like green.

The light gets bigger anyway, and I ice her tonsils.
May as well, she's still playin catchup.
Said her hips were tired.

Something about a mouth that's so humiliating and twice as erotic while halving the intensity.

Just something about it.

She's grinning rather satisfied with herself.

Good job finding the retarded cow, but its pretty easy when it announces its presence sending half fried hamburger and flying shanks in every direction.

... hope she doesn't want a kiss.
We don't really have that relationship, but there's that deranged expectant look on her face.

It's different for guys than girls.
You're just tasting a naturally occuring lubricant
you kinda want me to taste my own genetic material

I don't fry you your own fuckin omellettes and serve em to you.
Don't expect me to gargle my own soldiers.

"I so wanna smoke a bowl right now."
...

that's fucking terrific, can you give me back my jock and wash your face?

"Whatever you want, its your place"
I step into my jeans and pat for my smokes.
Not that I need to smoke, I just... kinda need to step out and away from this shit for a second. Need some alone time, and any excuse to not be around that giggling haze.

She meanders to the bathroom, hopping as she tries to put her panties on as she walks.
Her mocha skin glistening in the new light, my pale freckled body still in the moonlight filtered through multiblinds and the stale sex-air of the bedroom.

I don't mind having her scent on me, and I pause for a second wondering if I should put on my shoes and shirt, text her from the car after I light up...

Pretty tempting.

I thumb the numbers "Sorry babe I gotta pick up Chris from the bar- call me tomorrow?"

I had her name queued and was poised over send.

Fuck it.
Delete, ruffle my hair and step out pulling an entirely too expensive rillo and lighting up
should give her a minute to get high
and potentially
exponentially
stupider.

"You can smoke in here, I am."

"No thanks, have a moment."

I hear no flick and bubble, she pops the door and plops her nearly naked ass next to my jeans and pale shirtless powers.

Nuzzling up to me with her mixture of sweat, sweet, and me.
Puts her arm around, her noze and lips on my neck.

So of course I have to switch to my left hand to smoke, careful not to flick ash in her hair, or blow in her eyes.

"why do they call you roadkill?"

"Long story."

"What ya thinkin?"

"thinkin about moons".

"moons"

"yeah"
moons.

New moons. Blank spots. Kinda like my mind.

Pretty lil thing... why's this takin me so damn long?
Normally I'm ready to propose before the first date.

Why the fuck is she wearing my shirt?
Isn't that a little presumptuous?

Always takin things too fast. Is it a girl thing, or a girls that are into me kinda thing?

I sigh.

...
shit.

God, please let her misinterpret that.

She stares straight into me, a guilty uncomfortable sensation is creeping up my neck and threatening to appear on my face... well, more obvious than it already is.

She keeps getting deeper.
Clawing into my onyx, and I vanishing into that mottled hybrid's green and hazel flecks.

Is she getting closer?
Or am I just falling into her soul?

Lips
wet, warm, soft, thick lips
that husky inhale and a dart of wet flesh and saliva dances with my tongue
soft thin fingers along my beard and firmly pressed over my heart.

My eyes roll into the back of my head, and I noticed several minutes later that my cigar had escaped off the terrace into downstairs neighbor potted-plants.

Her eyes had closed.
Her back had arched, her round firm ass raised in the air waiting for another studding.

And with the passion behind that kiss, I would've happily mounted her then and there, braced against the iron grating of the fourth story porch.

... and why shouldn't I?

I'm weighing the consequences of skipping ZZ Gundam and just watching Char's Counterattack.

... ZZ is thus far the comic relief series.
It didn't need to happen, and I already of one relevant character death.

So what happened between then and now?
I went from watching Z Gundam which had at least one death an episode, emergent psychics, politics, treachery, doom doom doom and X0079 was... well THE Mobile Suit series.

Now they expect me to sit through some cornball teenage motley crew of screwoffs and antics?
FUCKING ANTICS!?

There's a group of kids (we're talking elementary school kids) in every series who serve as the comic relief or mischief makers for every series thus far

they actually KILLED one from the original in Zeta if that gives you any impression of how dark Z was.

and now it just feels like- from the music, the characters and even the exagerated movements and expressions of the main characters that
everyone
is going to be the comic relief/troublesome kids.

...yeah

so

Newtype Messiahs versus ... Snarf and the kids?

I had an instant dislike of the main character in the MSG games, Judau
he's a tween, he's goofy looking, and ... have you heard his fucking dialogue? It's fucking goofy > < ! "In the name of shangwalarh!" ...
They even gave the english voice actor an intentional upper jaw/lip lisp.
Like- put your lower lip under your front teeth
now talk like fucking Goofy from the old Disney cartoons without they "ahyhyuck"
you've just impersonated Judau.

So we go from Amuro Ray

The man who single handedly turned the tide of the one year war and could pilot a fucking suit with no camera or controls when he had developed his abilities.

Char and Kamille who were some kind of psychic messiah politician aces who pretty much headbutted an entire conglomerate force of ... EVERYONE versus a small but well funded guerilla ragtag band of deserters of multiple factions against prototype suits, giant city destroyers, nukes, asteroids headed for colonies/earth/themoon, giant lazer cannons, and psychos with almost equally impressive psychic abilities and even more impressive mobile suits.

Seriously

How the fuck am I to take trouble making fun loving Judau fucking Ashta seriously after watching Kamille absorb people's souls, his own sorrow, and his will to evolve and survive
and use it as a weapon

I pretty much loaded up these episodes saying
"oh shit... is Kamille okay? Where's Char?"

...
"where's Char?"
...
"Where's Kamille?"
...

"/sigh".

I'm only two in, but this is pretty much the end of the Neo Zeons, and a bulk of the UC timeline. (sure there's F91, Turn A, and the soon to be released Unicorn ? (name's pending) but this is the extent of Amuro and Char's impact on history)
This is really thus far a pretty pathetic sideplot.
I'm almost convinced that two relevant things happen in this series
the ZZ Gundam is developed (and its fuckin HUGE with tons of Pewpew)
and Haman dies. (20 year old spoiler alert /gasp)

I'm pretty much interested in only old characters at this point, and I'm worried I'll get tidbits at best.

I guess this is my question

would you watch a really
REALLY
bad side story to find out just a SMIDGE more about a really great timeline?

... its like watching Voyager to see if Picard makes a cameo.

... and I didn't watch Voyager.

Cliffnotes?

-in the offball sense.

Ever think you'd get to the point where if you ate chocolate every day... you'd hate chocolate?

... and I'll stop you right there if you already hate chocolate,
the chocolate is a metaphor for something you thought you'd love every day.
.......shit where'd I put my paycheck?

Found it.
Jesus christ I hate being a space cadet.

anyway, we were talking about the important things right?

Like whacking it and feeling nothing? Still finding that you hate 80% of your music collection, finding yourself willing to sacrifice god and country for a particularly wild looking piece of tail.




























Let's back up a smidge.

There's a girl

and if I were to say that I HAVE a type
she'd be it.

If you've experienced this
gravitation
you'd know what I'm talking about.

I've met hundreds of people by now that I felt I needed to.
this is just
like falling off a fucking bridge
If I were to pin this girl on the floor and start taking her in with bites and fingertips
it'd lead to sex and parting.

It's not even an emotion, a passion, a lust
its gravity. Nature, instinct.
I want to fuck her the same way I eat when I'm hungry.
For the fucking sake of eating.

Granted, I can now cook, rather well I might add
but I don't eat for flavor, I don't eat to pass time or build mass
I eat because I eat.

I'm attracted to her because I'm attracted to her.

There's no bullshit, no quota, no fickle drama
save one massive kink in the plan

A six foot something scraggly hood rat.

Now I'm not saying this from a place of racism
but have you ever looked at someone and just said "fuck dude- go take a shower and buy some clothes you didn't find in a trashbag by the side of the road?"

This is that guy.
I only know he's a hood rat because I know the men in this town
they're shitkickers, ex mil, corp sellouts, perpetual highschoolers (the frat boy dipshits at WU fit in this category), thugs, wanksters, dealers, hoodrats,  or wannabes of any of the aforementioned groups.

There are no decent fucking people here...
okay there are, but there's like 5 for every 1200.

I dunno how to waltze into that domain and declare myself the son of God.
How do you say "hey, I thought maybe you'd be interested in a new moon when you've got the full."

I'm not saying I'm better than this guy
because I honestly don't know that about him

I'm sure he's rugged, a good lay, possibly considerate, fun, appealing, dark, mysterious, strong, dreamy and sinewy.

I'm... arty, smarty, and farty.
*shrugs*
I guess I'm having a bit of an identity crisis
in that I kinda like who I am, and have no idea who I would attract.
Kind of a no confidence thing, kind of a lack of experience thing.

























She's pretty
in a completely haughty, mundane, I fucking leave tendrils of fire in the wake of my aura
kinda pretty.
Wrathful, spiteful, and not to be fucked with
even about coffee creamer or tic tac toe.

whereas I am the death of emotion.
Things withering and crumbling on dry trees
I'm that forced smile, as the world ends around me.
A weak chuckle after a true joke.

A fire and a void.

There's no air in a vaccuum, there is no fire... and yet there is heat and light.

I always found it puzzling to watch so many Hydrogen explosions in zero gravity going off seemingly simultaneous in super slow motion.

But they say that ... when one of those stars dies...
a vaccum within a vaccum, a greater darkness than light is born

Am I that darkness? Or the one before?

The spiral in the empty...

They say you can't create or destroy energy
but when you light a match, and burn its fuel, the cinders don't magically spark and burn again.

Conservation of energy is bollocks.

We're all just dieing slowly, there will be no grand cosmic collapse and rebirth
some matter has already reached escape velocity
some mass is going beyond a science we can understand
we applied rules of balance and containment in a system that said to hell with man's rules.

We thought ourselves prophets, we found ourselves blind fools playing darts.















Ah... I love words, they grant us the capacity for unintentional reflection and abstraction.
No doubt that will be a poem in the course of a couple days.

Yeah, last night was pretty rough.
This morning was too.

Shaved my head, spit out more blood
The consistency of warm butter
taste of copper and snort.

I made a wish of the lowly lonely as I watched the clotted lung cream spin down the tube.
Quick merciless maurading love.

Something unfamiliar, episodic rather than constant.
Someone I could afford to miss.
Someone I would want to forget.
Someone I could get drunk over
and not have her find out.

Someone with the fortitude for forgiveness
a pentient for penitence and a pension bigger than a dime purse.

Someone six stories low
with no history of violence, no disasters or tragedies
still being an ace, still a beautiful unique fucking butterfly like the rest of us.

Someone trying their fucking hardest at not trying
just reflected in a shattered mirror.

It's not such a crazy idea really...
a shard of glass
a silver lining

must have a thousand and one uses

Rule six is simple
don't drink when you need to.

I remember a time when I was prescribed pocketfuls of diazepam and other slow releases of Benz
Somedays I really miss it
then I discovered the wonderful lowfive of alchohol.

And of course years of self awareness and well practiced relaxation techniques

today was a minor meltdown

for 8 hours.

My mom wants me back in therapy because I can't force myself to like boring women.
I kinda laughed.... and made a secret list to myself of what I should really be back in for.

Maybe if they gave me a piece of cheesecake every time I talked to a nervous neurotic unremarkable woman,


I'd learn to hate cheesecake :/





But back to the meltdown
I think the best (worst) part of my condition is that the symptoms are so vague but intense, you can confuse it for food poisoning, having a gun held to your head, an adrenaline dose, low oxygen levels, liver failure and toxicity all to what you're experiencing; but lets not also forget that you get to go to really
really
dark places
in the middle of an otherwise average conversation...
and just stay there
sometimes days
terrified, confused, and spinning, not knowing to vommit, scream, or flee.

I got back to sanctuary finally, patted my dog, but everything's still corkscrew wound.
Feels like my spine's compacted, my stomach's made of taught jerky, and my neck and head feel ... weightless.

So I have hypertension above mentioned issues... low O2 levels, poor circulation and an inability to build mass because my muscles are constantly in a state of dehydration, cell death and distress

*thumbs up*
Still a prisoner to this body and terrified mind.

Booze helps
but chemical dependency is trading one problem for a much bigger one.

I'd tell you all about a family history of alchoholism and drug dependency, and my own personal problems with it

but I'd rather stick to that thing about womens.

Ah
womens.

I've once again been outdone by a thugnificent 6'6 hood rat.
It's always something, only boring girls or repentant whackadoos are into guys like me.

Employed, secretly an emotionally malfunctioning crumbling house of cards, brilliant, and otherwise lacking in decoration.

Face it

I don't have a motorcycle, dog tags, sleeve tattoos, facial piercings, or a deserving criminal record.

I am devoid of outward unpredictability and flash and for this I miss out on the interesting, crazy, passionate, types.

Women with substance.... ugh, is there anything less sensual?
It's like... oatmeal, yeah, its great for you but its lumpy gluey and unpleasantly dull
now eggs benedict... corned beef hash... pancakes drenched in gooey sickeningly sweet syrup and a pound of butter
is BAD
bad
BAAAAAAD for you


but god damn it they're good
good and fucking interesting.

The things that would make me interesting you have to dig for.

You'll find out in time that I'm a crumbling mess
 a self destructive artist
a kid from a small town that did a LOT of crazy shit
a champion of truth justice knowledge and the right to fuck when where and how I like
which is: always, wherever, and with plenty of passion.

I've got the red hair... I've got the weird first name, I've got that smile and "sure thing" attittude
which has nothing to do with me in a different setting.

Take me in a different context, and I'm the greatest man that ever lived...
but so few people would even get to that point
or be available to
and thus far... none of them could outweigh that with the impossible nagging neurotic tragedies of every day life with me.

Emotionally blind and dumb, and utterly bored with your bullshit, but not your fuckery.

Sometimes its not a question of who would love this,
but what would this love?

Good night.

I wonder how often you hum yourself
the song of belonging to another.
I hope you find yourself in a rhythm-
I wouldn't mind if we were synchronized,
but I could live with being a step slow.
You could lose the capris, just keep the heels.
How many times have you practiced that move?
Emergency-stop, belts and bra come off.
I can keep the beat, you moan a few bars.
Sweat drips, slop slips, spit clings like spider's silk.

Well, I'm jacking this from Wolf... because he's hot.

I've done these here and there, probably saying things like "8 things you didn't know about me but I would've told you"

So I'll TRY to post some original shit.

1. I popped my black cherry when I was 7, unwillingly and in a friend's bathroom- to this day I am terrified of people putting things near or in my ass.
Go figure?
That means I really might think you're muscley, handsome or outright GORGEOUS! but guys- I don't wanna fuck you or vice versa. It's cute when you don't take no for an answer... wait, no it isn't.

2. I lost my normal cherry when I was 22

....
stop laughing

to a girl I was very much in love with at the time

STOP LAUGHING!

We broke up- horrifically, and she is the source of much anguish, poetry, guilt, rage, and fear.
She's marrying the toolbag that she was cheating on me with that I was 99% sure of (and a major contributor to the breakup) and what her friends later verify.
Awesome.

3. I experience -NO- extremes anymore.
I really feel color blind and terrified of ever feeling again. I might get bouncy, or enthusiastic about laying a stranger, I might like a project or gush about giant robots
but its an easilly divorceable emotion.
I dunno- you probably already heard about that.

4. I haven't the faintest idea where to go with my life now that I'm back to a point of zero, and have regained much of what was stolen from me.
I'm kinda scared.
I'm kinda bored.
I'm almost certain that I really dont' care- which is only going to diminish the impact of any decisions I hesitate on making.
Time is of the essence, I should strike- I dunno which way.

5. I had cripling emotional, anger, and social issues growing up, I'd like to think I'm a quiet, unsubtle and likeable guy- but man, the idea of talking to even a friendly stranger had me so tense I'd literally vommit/pass out later... or nearly shit my pants. Yeah, when you have a MASSIVE fear response- you void your bowels so you can run better.
I'm not making this shit up.
So... talking to people, was a bit out of my comfort zone.
Kissing a girl- I about needed a paramedic.

6. I have not just terrifying dreams
but painful ones.
A couple nights ago I had my ribs crushed by a psychotic roided out cop. My ribs STILL hurt, and I wince when I cough or breathe now. That wasn't the worst though, I was once flayed alive over the course of nine hours
every inch of my body split, severed, sliced and drawn like this sick fuck was making a leather suit out of me. Ever cut, every tear, every hook dug into me with perceptable agony.
That's real fear to me- if you ever watch me use a knife I'm VERY careful of my fingers. I got dizzy once from cutting my finger- but mostly because I cut down to the bone with one chop- and that noise it made was SICK.
Knife play and hairpulling are out for me girls.
At least on the receiving end.

7. I think I'd make a great dad. I really wish I could meet someone I'd be impressed with enough to breed out of respect and love and not desperation to teach my offspring to be haiku writing kung fu lords.
Seriously... that's what I want for my kids.
So yeah... true love is kind of an elusive thing to me, but my paternal instincts practically outweigh consideration of such- if you met my ex's you'd understand.

8. Sex is a big deal to me.
It's hugely involved, extremely intense, emotional, and ... exposing for me.
That's my truest expression of fun, love, and comfort with you, because I've had so many experiences with shame and guilt and "ow MY ASS!" or situations where ...
let's back up a second
sex is a big deal
it's a cosmic emotional exchange
and it's like jumping off a bridge to me. Fun but scary. I have PTSD from my assaults and other incidents, I do wig out and have flashbacks during sex... at work... driving... etc
so... it's kinda dangerous for me to be that involved in anything. Dangerous I guess because it scares the hell out of me to relive those experiences, and ... I think pretty dangerous for my partners who consent to that nonsense of "oh shit he's back in Nam! staring through me, and breaking out in a cold sweat"
it might look like I'm just thinking about baseball and trying not to finish
there's a strong possibility that I'm some place
very
very
VERY
bad
and I need you to bring me back and love me.
Please.

9. I'm nearly fucking impossible to live with.
Nightmares, insomnia, crazy 6 hour long rants because I'm not used to ANYONE paying attention to me, emotional withdrawal (in two ways), high sexuality (yeah even if a guy's livin with me- you'd get tired of the wrist action and "private time" to loud moaning pornos across the house) I only clean up after others and not myself, don't touch my shit
ever.
I probably like my dog more than I like you- and if you invite me to something, I might decline because I don't actually get that you'd want to spend time with me, or be upset that I wouldn't spend time with you, and when I WANT to bond, I pretty much have to. I'm a puppy dog and a cat that ignores you if you aren't carrying a can opener at the same time, depends on the day, depends on the video game.

10.
I can NOT have sex without emotion and possession.
I have received one true pity fuck in my life, I felt ugly, used, dirty, and completely unloved- sure we both came like typhoons, but I didn't feel as though she was mine, and happy to be mine.
That was right toward the end.
Angry sex can be beautiful, because of the intensity the possession and the demands-
sex for the sake of sex

really makes me feel like a whore.
I'd rather be seen as someone that needs and is needed.
Loves and is loved.
I dunno if that's romanticism, love, or just my unique alchemy of sexual abuse and trust... but its there, and I don't put out without emotion... well, if I do it has side effects I won't say "never".